


Beautiful

by dragonspell



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len doesn’t believe Mick when Mick calls him beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

The first time that Mick says it, Len shrugs him off. At fifteen, Len’s fresh-faced and baby-cheeked and Mick thinks that he looks like a movie star. All long legs and awkward, boney grace, with a voice that makes him sound older, Len is like Mick’s own little spot of light in the darkness that is his life. When Len looks up and smiles that little smirk that he saves just for Mick, Mick sometimes forgets how to breathe. 

Len comes wheeling around the corner, laughing because the cops are stuck two blocks over with no way of knowing which direction Len and Mick have gone and they can consider this a successful getaway. He stops beside Mick and bows over at the waist as he pants. A few minutes of gulping air and he comes back up, grin infusing his whole face. Mick can’t even stop the words, they just drop right out of his mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he says and wonders if Len would let him kiss him.

Len scrunches up his eyebrows, then shakes his head and shrugs, like Mick had just said a bad joke. “Whatever, man. Let’s go see if Parkins made it, too.” He takes off running and Mick follows a step behind, confused about what had just happened.

Parkins made it. Mallory hadn’t, pinched by the police down on Hawkins.

* * *

The second time is a few years later, not because Mick doesn’t think it constantly but because Len’s just beautiful all the time. Len’s got to know that, right? Got to. 

Mick’s not, though, so he’ll settle for just being close. It’s the best he’s going to get.

They’ve been working in crews on and off together for the better part of three years and Len’s decided that it’s time that they strike out on their own. He’s 17 to Mick’s 19 and together, they think they know something. 

They don’t know shit.

Len’s bent over a set of blueprints, same as he’s been for the past hour, blue eyes tracing and retracing his proposed path into the vault, while Mick’s sitting on some storage boxes, checking over the guns. They aren’t planning on using them, but having a backup never hurts. Mick looks over and catches a stream of light filtering in from one of the warehouse’s broken windows. It flares along Leonard’s cheek and makes his eyes glint like ice. “You’re beautiful,” Mick blurts, his brain to mouth filter predictably absent.

Len glances up and blinks. “What?”

Mick doesn’t dare say it again. Len doesn’t want to know that Mick thinks that he’s beautiful. Why would a flower want to know that the dirt thinks that it’s pretty? Taking the coward’s way out, Mick bows his head and pretends that he hadn’t said anything.

He feels Len’s eyes on him for awhile longer and he tries his best to appear normal. Eventually the blueprints rustle as Len goes back to work.

* * *

The third time, Mick’s drunk. They’re celebrating a heist down at Saints and Sinners with fake IDs and a whole lot of cash and the words aren’t so much said as slobbered into his illegally obtained beer. Len rolls his eyes good naturedly and says thanks in that sarcastic drawl of his. Mick’s insides start to glow. He throws an arm over Len’s shoulder and says it again, this time louder. Len informs him that Mick had better be able to walk when he’s done because there was no way that Len is carrying him anywhere.

Len ends up carrying him to Casey Philips’s pickup truck, putting all the muscles he’s been gaining over the summer to good use. Mick drapes himself overtop of Len and tells him again that he’s beautiful. He also says it to the truck and later the ground, though, so, in hindsight, he can see why Len might have had a hard time believing him. 

Mick wakes up with the mother of all hangovers and Len handing him two aspirin. “You are fucking beautiful,” Mick croaks and downs them dry. Len huffs a laugh, his chin against his chest, like he thinks that it's a joke and Mick wants him to know that it’s not, but Mick’s head isn’t feeling too predisposed to words at the moment. Or staying conscious for that matter. Mick flops down on the bed and throws an arm over his eyes. “Seriously, Lenny. Beautiful.”

Len’s voice is soft as he replies. “No, I’m not. But thanks, partner.” Mick wants to ask what that means but sleep drags him back under. 

He swears that he feels fingertips trailing down his arm.

* * *

It becomes a thing. Mick says it honestly and Len lets him, but Mick gets the impression that Len doesn’t believe him. Mick wants Len to believe him.

Only Mick gets away with saying it, though, which is something at least. A guy at the bar in Saints and Sinners calls Len beautiful and slips his arm around Len’s waist while Len’s trying to get a drink. Watching from the pool table, Mick screws up his shot. Mardon—one of them—laughs at him.

The guy standing next to Len isn’t anything special, but he’s not exactly ugly. Mick’s curious about how Len will respond.

Len damn near breaks the guy’s arm, twisting it backward before he throws him across the floor. The guy stumbles and careens into Polanski who helps the guy get the rest of the way to the door with a shove. The regulars move out of the way and keep on drinking. Just a newbie learning the ropes. At Saints and Sinners, you don’t threaten the bartender unless you’d like to lose an ear, you don’t mess with the jukebox if old Fred’s around, and you only get to touch Len Snart if he likes you—and even that’s kind of iffy.

Mick laughs. “Beautiful!” he says as Len comes back with two beers. He takes one and downs a swig then tips it towards Len. “That was beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Len shakes his head and takes a drink of his own bottle. “Hurry up and lose, Mardon. Next game’s mine.” Len’s smile is predatory. Mick thumps Len’s back as he passes behind him, hand clutching Len’s shoulder for a little shake. Len takes another swig.

“Five minutes,” Mick says.

* * *

“God, you’re beautiful,” Mick breathes. Len looks up from the blueprints that he’s got scattered across the table and quirks an eyebrow. There’s no one else in the warehouse besides the two of them and Mick knows that Len’s probably wanting an explanation for why he’s talking when Len’s trying to concentrate, but Mick doesn’t have one. It’s just the truth and he wanted to say it. Len’s beautiful when he’s planning, that big clever brain focused on mapping out all the possibilities and contingencies, blue eyes studying blueprints and notes while his lips twitch with the words he mutters to himself. Mick likes the view.

Len narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Don’t burn anything,” he says, and goes back to studying. Mick rolls his eyes. He hasn’t burned anything in weeks now.

* * *

Mick laughs as he slams open the door of their current safe house, the thrill of having made off with a million and half running like wildfire through his veins. Even Len can’t contain himself, his steps light as he half-skips beside Mick and bounces into the open room. Success makes Mick bold and he scoops Len up and twirls him around while Len laughs and pretends to protest, his hands slapping against Mick’s shoulders before he gives up and lets himself be carried. He grins down at Mick, his eyes prettier than the jewels they just swiped and desire flares through Mick’s body. He doesn’t think, doesn’t want to. He dumps Len on the bed in the corner, the one that Len’s been using, and swoops down and kisses him before either of them can think better about it. “Beautiful,” Mick says. Len gapes like a fish, wide-eyed and shocked, before he grabs Mick’s face and pulls him back in for another kiss like he’s been starving for it. 

“Please,” Len begs, his voice soft and shuddering on the word. His long fingers slip along Mick’s neck and down to his chest. “Mick. Please.”

The bed dips beneath Mick’s knees and Len looks up at him, blue eyes and plush lips. Mick’s never seen anyone so beautiful. He doesn’t know how he’s been allowed to be here, to be in bed with the angel that’s looking at Mick like he needs him, but Mick doesn’t want to waste his chance. Mick kisses Len again, this time slow when Len tries to rush, and Len groans deep and low. He goes willingly when Mick pushes him back against the bed.

* * *

Mick’s tongue explores a long faded scar on Len’s back, traveling upwards as it curls over his shoulder blade. Len rolls, putting his back against the bed. “Don’t,” he says.

“Okay.” Mick stares down at him. It still amazes him to think that Len lets a guy like him touch him. After the house had burned down, Mick had never thought that he’d ever get to have anything beautiful again, but then Len came swaggering into his life, handing out jewels and flamethrowers and himself, sometimes all at once.

Mick’s eyes trace over another of Len’s scars, letting it tell its story. It’s beautiful because it’s part of Len. “Stop staring,” Len snaps and Mick leans up to kiss him slow and gentle. He’s told Len before that he thinks that Len’s scars were beautiful. Len had scoffed bitterly and put his shirt back on, so now Mick keeps his mouth shut about the scars.

The stories behind them are ugly, he knows, but they don’t make Len any less beautiful.

* * *

In a jail cell, cuddled together on the bottom bunk after lights out, Mick lets his fingers trail over Len’s face. His stubble pricks against Mick’s skin. “You’re so beautiful,” Mick whispers. Len blinks at him in the dark and knits his brow. Mick smoothes it out with a touch and Len leans down and kisses him, his lips soft against Mick’s. Mick rolls them both over so Mick is pressing Len down into the mattress, bodies aligned, and Mick’s lips wordlessly tell Len that he’s beautiful over and over again.

* * *

Off in the distance, an alarm’s going off, loud and piercing as it cries for help. It’s not for them, though, because Len’s long, clever fingers had disabled the museum’s alarm system before they’d swiped the painting that Lisa was now carting back to the storehouse. Mick shoves Len into an alley and presses him against the bricks to kiss him, holding him there until Len’s whining softly in the back of his throat. Len opens for Mick’s tongue, sucking on it as his hands trail up Mick’s sides. “God, you’re gorgeous,” Mick growls. “Just fucking beautiful, Lenny.” Mick smashes his mouth against Len’s again, rough and wet as Len fights back with his lips and teeth. 

When they break again, Len snarls and pulls Mick back in, wanting more. “Finish what you start, Mick,” Len snaps and grips Mick through his jeans, efficiently and brusquely jerking him off while Mick groans against his neck.

Mick’s nearly there when the alarm’s answering sirens get closer and he and Len have to hoof it back to the apartment. Len grins savagely at him and says winner gets to bend the other over first, then takes off before Mick even has a chance to process the words. Cheater.

* * *

“You’re beautiful, Len,” Mick says, his hands running up Len’s bare thighs. On top of him, Len rolls his eyes. 

“You’re already getting laid, Mick. You don’t need to butter me up.” He rolls his hips and Mick groans as his cock shifts inside of Len.

“Not buttering you up,” Mick replies. Turn about’s fair play, so Mick strokes Len’s cock from root to tip and grins at how Len’s eyes flutter. “Just the truth.” His free hand slides up Len’s stomach, spreading out over his skin. Mick’s thumb dips into the small scar by Len’s navel, but Len hasn’t minded him touching his scars in years. “I tell you all the time and you never believe me.”

“I believe—” Len’s breath hitches as Mick thrusts up into him. “I believe you.”

“No,” Mick says, disagreeing. He sits up and traces another scar that slices over Len’s shoulder. “You think I’m crazy.”

Len cups his jaw and tilts him up for a kiss. When Mick opens his eyes again, Len’s studying his face, blue eyes sliding over Mick’s features. “I think you’re beautiful,” Len whispers.

Mick grins. “See, now I know _you’re_ crazy.”

Len pins him down and rides him until they’re both sated and out of breath.

* * *

The Waverider’s bunks leave a lot to be desired, but Mick and Len make them work. Mick kisses Len’s cheek, the side of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Len’s fingers slip under Mick’s shirt and skim through the line of hair on Mick’s stomach before sliding upward, coaxing Mick to take the shirt off. Mick strips it off quickly and comes back, half-afraid that Len will disappear if he takes his hands off of him, that maybe Len’s just another of the Time Masters’ illusions, created to break him.

Len’s real, warm and solid under Mick’s fingers, and Mick sighs. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

“So are you,” Len replies and pulls him in.


End file.
